May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor
by fabfan
Summary: AU. Crossover with The Hunger Games. Frankie was a broken shell. Only one person could ever help her. (Bianca M./Frankie S.)


Title: May the Odds Be Ever In Your Favor  
Pairing: Bianca/Frankie  
Rating: PGish  
Disclaimer: Not my characters  
Summary: AU. Crossover with The Hunger Games. (I've never read the books and only saw the first movie once. Keep that in mind if I mess up on something.) Frankie was a broken shell. Only one person could ever help her.

* * *

_She was going to die._

_That kept repeating over and over in Frankie's head. She was going to die tonight. Branches scratched at her face and arms as she ran through the thick brambles. Tiny cuts stung across her body as mottled bruises ached with vengeance. She could feel tiny rivulets of her own blood seeping out of her skin and staining her uniform. Her legs burned, but she couldn't stop running. If she stopped, it was all over_

_Cutting to her left, the short girl stumbled over a large tree root. With a muted cry, she slammed to the ground. Pain tore through her. She grit her teeth to hold back the burning tears and groan. Her hands shook violently as she attempted to push back to her feet. Blackened with dirt and dried blood, the cracked fingers slipped in the unstable mud. Her arms collapsed and she tumbled forward. Mud caked her face, tiny pebbles clawing at the cut above her eye. The decaying smell of death invaded her senses. Bile rose in her throat, hot and choking._

_She had to get up._

_If she didn't, he would kill her._

_Panic gripped her. Squeezed at her head and cut off her air. She gasped and coughed, spitting out bits of bile and mud. Frankie dug her shoulder into the earth and forced her knees to bend underneath her. Biting her lip till the chapped flesh turned bright red and the taste of copper joined the bile in her mouth, Frankie staggered to her knees._

_She didn't hear the footsteps behind her until it was too late. Fast and sure, boots glided over the terrain._

_A hoarse shout._

_A strong body, stronger than she ever could be, rammed into her._

_Arms flailed as Frankie flew back to the ground, rolling to her side. Large hands groped at her. Bloody palms slapped her face and ripped her hair. Legs straddled her, holding her down._

_With a hoarse shout, Frankie fought back. She kicked and bit, doing everything she could to knock him off. To get away. With a wild swing, her knuckles connected with a nose. The crunch of breaking cartilage echoed in the murky night air. The boy yelled and his hands disappeared as they went to his face._

_Frankie used the small opening. With all her strength, she flipped her body around. The boy fell off her. Within seconds she was scrambling to her feet. Her lungs screamed. She couldn't breathe. Her ears buzzed and red haze blinded her vision. She lunged forward. Away from him. Away from death._

_She only got a few steps when she sensed him recovering. The air shifted. He was on his feet._

_He was hurtling towards her._

_The world seemed to go into slow motion. Yet, it was faster than reality ever had been. The knife, the only weapon Frankie'd gleaned before running away from the bloodbath at the start of the Game, rested in her pocket. The projected fake moonlight glinted off the metal of the blade as she freed it. Spinning on her heel, she met the advancing boy with the sharpened point._

_It slid in with ease. The sickening stench of fresh blood rose as the hot sticky liquid covered her hand. The noise of the blade entering his body, cutting his flesh and slicing his insides, rattled in the buzzing of her ears. Frankie stared into his eyes. Wide green eyes filled with horror and grief._

_Those eyes stayed on her as he fell back._

_She watched as the light of life extinguished. The green eyes turned cold. Unmoving._

_Dead._

With a sharp gasp, Frankie bolted up. Cold sweat dripped down her face and body, causing her nightclothes to stick to her like glue. She couldn't breathe. She closed her eyes and pressed her hands to her face. Her entire body shivered relentlessly. She could still see those green eyes. Hear the boom of a cannon signaling death of a tribute. The phantom taste of tortured sickness filled her mouth.

Gulping in air, Frankie kicked at the tangled blankets twisted around her legs. She desperately threw herself across the bed. Her quaking hands dropped from her burning eyes and grappled with the drawer in the maple wood bedside table. Fingers grasped the golden handle. The drawer jerked open, and she rooted inside, pushing away the papers and pulling out the bottle hidden beneath.

Within seconds the lone pill was in her mouth.

She swallowed it, carelessly tossing the now empty bottle on the bed. The bottle that she wasn't meant to have. That she paid more than she should for. The bottle she needed.

Frankie fell onto her back as the effects of the drug quickly took hold. Her hands stopped shaking. The tight vice-like grip on her throat dissipated.

The world felt like a nice place.

Colors and shapes swirled before her eyes. Playful and calming. She grinned tiredly at them. Her hand lazily rose and pointed at them. Her smile widened as her fingers traced the blues and yellows. Fingers that were once soaked with blood. The blood was gone now. Visibly at least. Frankie stared at her hands. No one else could see the blood. Not anymore. But, she could. She could still see it. Smell it. It never went away, never was going to.

But, it didn't matter when flashes of light and happy clouds floated around her head. If she reached out hard enough and squinted just right...there it was. The thing that made her most happy. Skipping amongst the pinks and purples. _She_ was so beautiful.

The euphoria only lasted a few minutes.

Then, it was over.

The shapes disappeared.

The roar of reality set back in.

Frankie blinked, coming down from the high with a subtle crash.

Her arm tossed over her face, covering her eyes. She pushed her bicep down until stars appeared behind her eyelids. "Damn it."

The pills were working less and less. One was not enough. Not near enough. And she was out. The bottle was empty. She'd have to sneak out and find the man who sold it to her. She didn't know his name, and she was fine with that. As long as he could get her the little pills that she couldn't get anywhere else, she didn't give a damn what he was called.

Locking her jaw, Frankie slowly clambered to her feet. She rubbed at her wet cheeks. The dried sweat and tears wiped clean, but the effects of the dream still hovered around the corners of her mind. Haunted her.

"Get it together." Frankie angrily muttered to herself. "Stop being so weak." She didn't have time for this. The Game had already started. She needed to find a screen and see how her District was doing.

District 8.

Frankie took in a ragged breath. District 8 never won. There hadn't been a winner for years before her, and there hadn't been a winner since. Her win was an anomaly. Something no one saw coming. Most figured she'd survive the first day, but she'd be gone by the second.

Sometimes, she wished they'd been right.

Shaking that thought away, Frankie walked to the bathroom. She needed to take a quick shower and start working. Her mentees were counting on her to get them support, and they sure as hell needed it.

With a flick of the wrist, the lights to the bathroom sparked to life. Frankie began to remove her shirt as she tripped over to the shower stall. The thin cotton clung to her sweat cooled skin, forcing her to peel it off like a bandage. She kept her eyes averted from the mirror and focused solely on the handles she twisted to get steaming water to fall from the overhead spout. The shirt fell to the floor, and the light revealed the scattered scars, both visible and invisible, that dotted her body. The loose cotton pants came off next, and Frankie entered the stall. Hot water instantly hit her, burning every inch of her it touched.

Frankie barely felt it.

Flashes of metal and blood played across her eyesight. Terror in knowing she was chosen for death fought to invade her heart. The images of dark forests faded, only to be replaced by a child's bright face. Young and innocent, only 12 years old, and her first trainee. Kathy Martin died within hours of the start of the Games. The screens highlighted the moment her small body was hit by the arrow and fell.

With a muffled sob, Frankie leaned her forehead against the cool tile wall. The scorching water pounded her back and shoulders. Swallowing a weeping shout, Frankie smashed her hand against the wall. Again and again. She closed her eyes as tightly as possible, but a tear still leaked out.

The water continued to fall.

* * *

"I like District 1 to win it, obviously. Have you seen that boy? He's cute." gushed a schoolgirl. Frankie pushed past her, shouldering her way through. The Capitol loved the Hunger Games. Adored them. The best entertainment of the year. Frankie rolled her eyes. Give them a show. That's all they were there for. To give these people a good show. A show that was watched everywhere by everyone.

The square was busy. People milled about, chatting and exhibiting their outlandish style. Frankie never felt comfortable surrounded by all these fake smiles and backstabbing joy. The Capitol was nothing like her home district. Where she came from, food was hard to come by and you worked all day and at least half the night to afford a living. Here, the people never wanted for anything. Their faces were painted and the clothes were decidedly unusable. They dressed for fashion not comfort. They didn't have to worry about how the steaming factory air would affect their clothes. How smog could force you to feel like you can't move, can't think, and heavy clothing only made it worse.

She never fit in. Not here. Sure, she did a bit better than some of the others. The mentors and participants from District 12, for example, couldn't stop marveling at the city landscape. Tall buildings and metal everywhere. They were used to forests and streams.

Like her arena had been.

Frankie pursed her lips and willed herself to not think about it. She wasn't going to think about her time in the Hunger Games. Not now.

As she walked, a few people glanced at her, their glaringly white and red made up faces twitching with amusement and disgust. She could read their minds easily. The Capitol only liked outsiders when it came to watching the Game. Otherwise, they believed themselves far above the little impoverished fools in the districts. More than once Frankie'd been told to dress like them. It would help her garner favor.

She didn't give a damn about favor. She'd already done her time. She didn't need them to like her anymore.

She dressed how she wanted. What felt comfortable. The plain brown t-shirt and brown trousers stood out when next to the pouffy magenta dresses and neon suits.

Shaking her head, Frankie turned away from the square and darted quickly to the imposing stone structure across the street. Stepping inside, she was immediately met with the strong odor of cigars and wine.

What else would one expect when entering one of the elite's den of debauchery?

Lifting her head confidently, Frankie pulled back her shoulders and strode forward. A charming grin plastered on her face and a persuasive twinkle entered her eye. The main room off to the side was swarming with men and women dressed in their fashionable best. Food filled tables littered the edges and drinks of every color dotted trays as servers buzzed about.

Frankie's eyes skipped over them all and landed on the television screen.

Her charge was on screen.

What was she doing?

Frankie's hands clenched. The female of her District, Simone, a pretty girl with long dark hair and a bit of an attitude, was flirting with the male from District 1. Frankie couldn't believe it. Did this girl really think she could trick a career into not killing her? Into forming a trustful alliance? Had she learned nothing from Frankie's training?

Why didn't these people ever listen to her?

District 8 never won for a reason. It was because the careers always won. The Hunger Games were simple to understand. Two tributes, a boy and a girl, were selected from each District. After a bit of training with their mentors, previous winners from their District, they were dropped into the arena. They killed each other until one final victor remained. That was the winner. Most Districts didn't focus on the Game. It was a hellish moment to fear and pray you were never a part of, but other than that, most people were too busy trying to survive and live another day. A few Districts, though, weren't as poor as District 8. They were favored by the Capitol. Their children were trained from an early age to win the Games. They were born and built for it.

They were the victors.

And Simone was thinking she could team up with a career and he wouldn't stab her in the back?

Frankie told her to stay away. Stay safe. The more you interacted, the more likely you were to die.

She wondered where Jaime, the male tribute, was. Last night she'd seen him. He was alive, but not doing well. He had a few wounds. Superficial, but without treatment they would fester and become infected.

Turning away from the screen, Frankie ambled up to the nearest gentleman with a cigar and glass of brightly colored alcohol in his hand.

"Hello, Mr. Chandler."

The man glanced over at her, "Frankie Stone."

Frankie hid her grimace at his calculated greeting. This wasn't going to turn out well, "Enjoying your day, sir?"

"No."

"No?"

He smirked, "I'm not spending any money on your losers. District 1 has already won this round."

"You can't be sure about that, Mr. Chandler. We both know nothing ever turns out the way it's planned with the Game." she nodded at the screen, "Both of my tributes are still alive. The District 1 female is already dead."

"And soon yours will be, too."

"Why bet on a career? There's no money in that. No excitement." Frankie looked at him, "It's always more rousing when one of the outliers wins. Who cares about a career boy? Imagine if District 8 won again. It'd be..."

"A fantasy." Mr. Chandler interrupted her. "No, Stone. I've made my bets, and it's not on you."

Frankie nodded and carefully stepped away. Adam Chandler never supported anyone other than the careers. He was frugal with his support. He took more pleasure in watching the careers systematically kill everyone than watching some poor untrained soul triumph in the face of all odds.

Meandering up to the next person in sight, Frankie smiled brightly, "Good day, Mr. Cambias."

Ethan Cambias peered away from the screen for a moment before settling his gaze back on the Games, "Hello."

Noticing his gaze, Frankie slid up to him, "Simone is an excellent tribute. How couldn't she be? She's pretty. Smart. Got a hell of a chance at winning this thing. All she needs is a bit of support." It was actually Jaime who probably had a better chance and who needed the support more with his wounds, but this guy was eyeing Simone.

Ethan hummed.

"All she needs is a man brave enough to take a chance on her, and she'll win. Both would, because with her alive, well...the Capitol would love it. You'd even get to be known as the man who helped her."

Ethan seemed to think it over before sighing, "I can't."

"Sure you can. Just a little bit. Anything. Food. Medicine. Supplies."

He bowed his head, "She is not going to win."

Frankie could feel him slipping away, "She has a great chance. Anything can happen. If she gets help, she can win. She knows how to."

"We both know District 8 scored below average."

Frankie grimaced. Before entering the arena, each tribute was tested and given a number discerning their chances at winning the Game. Both Simone and Jaime scored 2. What'd that mean? It meant they were both lucky to even have survived the first day. They didn't have the skills or wherewithal to win. "That doesn't matter. What matters is they are still alive. Both tributes. For scoring low, they've both done better than others who scored above them. That should tell you something."

"I can't. I'm sorry. My support is behind District 4." he stepped away, eyes still sadly on the screen.

Frankie cursed before moving on to the next person.

* * *

Nothing.

Not one single supporter.

Frankie slapped her hand against the side of her leg. Not one person was willing to spend even a little on a ration of food for her tributes. Either it was because District 8 had no chance of winning or because neither we're likable, and no one wanted to support a contestant they didn't like. They wouldn't survive without something. Anything. They needed help.

The only way Frankie survived was because she had a supporter.

Biting her lip, Frankie rubbed at her nose. She shouldn't. She should stay away.

But, her tributes were counting on her.

Sighing, Frankie quickly made her way through the streets. The sun was setting in the distance, and the sounds of the Game were blaring from nearby televisions and screens.

As she drew closer to her destination, anticipation bubbled inside of her. How long had it been since they'd seen each other? The first day Frankie returned to the Capitol for the this year's Hunger Games?

It felt like a lifetime.

Her heart rate picked up speed as she saw the house. It was stately. Marble and granite. It exuded wealth and prestige. This was the home of one of the wealthiest families in the Capitol. One of its richest residents.

Frankie never felt more at home in the Capitol than she did there.

Marching up to the front door, she knocked quickly before letting her hand drop to her side.

A moment later, the door opened. A butler, dressed crisply in his sky blue uniform, looked her over with an air of distain, "May I help you?"

Frankie cleared her throat, "Is Ms. Montgomery available?"

He looked her over again.

"My name is Frankie Stone. I..."

"I know who you are." he cut her off. With a loud exhale, he waved her in. "Wait here."

Frankie watched him stalk off. Even the servants in the Capitol felt above her. Stuffing her hands in her trouser pockets, she looked around the entrance hallway. It was large. Ornate. Gold and silver decorated the walls and ceiling. Marble floors glistened beneath her scruffy boots. It was spotless. Immaculate. A shuffling to the side caught Frankie's attention, and she glimpsed a maid dusting a lamp in a side room.

"Ms. Stone."

Warmth filled her at the welcomed feminine voice. Frankie could hear the hidden smile in the tone, and she had to bite back her own when she slowly turned around, "Good evening, Ms. Montgomery."

Bianca Montgomery was stunning. Mahogany tinted hair and heart shaped face framed beautiful coffee colored eyes and full pale pink lips. She was dressed a bit less outlandishly than her counterparts. A silky midnight blue dress wrapped around her svelte frame, and her face was free of the ridiculous white powder that many Capitolists wore.

"Welcome to my home. Would you care for anything to drink?" Bianca politely asked.

"No, thank you."

"Well then, shall we retire to another room to discuss the reason behind your visit?"

"Of course."

Bianca turned to the butler, "Thank you, Ryan. That will be all for this evening. Have a safe journey home, and I shall see you tomorrow."

"Good evening, Ms. Montgomery." Ryan gave a slight bow and disappeared to the room the maid had been in.

"If you would follow me, Ms. Stone." Bianca tilted her head.

Frankie nodded. Without another word, Bianca led her down a hallway before taking a right. A stairway appeared, and they slowly made their way up the steps. At the top, another stroll down a hallway and a left turn deposited them in front of a closed door. Frankie didn't see any of the excessive decorations or furniture. Her eyes were solely on Bianca. She felt like a dead man who finally experienced paradise. When she wasn't plagued by nightmares, this is what she dreamed about at night.

With a subtle look down the hall, Bianca opened the door and ushered Frankie inside. Frankie stepped across the threshold, her shoulders relaxing as the sound of the door clicking shut behind her echoed in the empty room.

"You look tired."

Frankie shrugged.

"Have you slept at all?" Bianca stepped around her. Her hand tenderly brushed Frankie's elbow and slid down her arm to squeeze her wrist.

"Few hours." Frankie watched her.

"You need to take care of yourself better." Bianca gently chided. Worry flashed in her eyes. She knew how Frankie was during the Games.

"I'm fine, Bianca."

They both knew that was a lie.

Shifting on her feet, Frankie changed the subject, "Your bedroom?"

Bianca ran her hand along the edge of her bed, "No one will see us here."

"Right."

Bianca smirked sadly, "All I wanted to do when I saw you downstairs was take you in my arms."

"Bianca," Frankie sighed. She sniffled and rubbed at her nose. A wave of exhaustion hit her. She was tired. Tired of life and all it entailed. Tired of fighting, hiding, surviving.

"I want you."

"We both know that wouldn't work."

"I love you."

Frankie breathed out as comforting hands curled around her shoulders, "I may be allowed to live in the Capitol during the Games, but I'm still not accepted here. You can't be with someone from the districts, especially 8."

"I don't care what my neighbors think. I never have." Bianca rubbed Frankie's shoulders. The pads of her fingers trickled up to soothingly massage the back of Frankie's neck. "I remember the first time I saw you."

Frankie's Hunger Game.

"You were so...different from anyone I'd ever met. Anyone else in that arena." Bianca continued softly. "You were strong and brave, but you had a soul. A good soul. You still do."

"And you sent me a box of cookies that first night."

"I'd send you a thousand more."

Frankie lightly grasped Bianca's forearms, "You know it's not the neighbors we've worried about."

It was the government.

"They shouldn't care who I have in my bed."

"They care who you have on your arm." Frankie leaned into her. "The Capitol loves a good story, but not this kind."

Bianca touched her forehead to Frankie's, "I need you. I miss you so much." Her palm curved around Frankie's jaw, "I'd do anything for you. I love you."

Frankie pressed a swift kiss to her pulse point before stepping back, "We can't."

"Yes, we can." Bianca followed her. "_We have_."

Frankie swallowed thickly.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"At the party after the Game. I was on display like a prized goat."

"You were gorgeous." Bianca countered.

"I couldn't take my eyes off you." Frankie recalled. "You found me and started talking to me like I was human. Not just some winner of a killing contest."

"Because you are human." Bianca brushed a kiss to her cheek.

Frankie scoffed quietly. Human? A human didn't do the things she did. Didn't kill. Didn't have to see those green eyes every night.

"You are." Bianca captured Frankie's eyes with her own. "You are more human than anyone else I know, Frankie. You care so much. Even when you pretend you don't."

Frankie shrugged.

"I couldn't feel this way about you, if you weren't. If you weren't a good soul." Bianca's mouth touched the corner of Frankie's lips, "I fell in love with you that night."

Frankie turned her head and caught Bianca's lips in a gentle kiss.

As they broke apart slowly, Frankie whispered, "I love you, too."

"I know." Bianca caressed the side of her face. She pressed another loving kiss to Frankie's lips.

Frankie kissed her back, "You...you make me happy." Bianca was who came to her with the colorful clouds and funny shapes when she took the pills. Always Bianca.

Bianca held her face, "You make me happy, too."

Frankie opened her mouth, but it snapped shut when the crisp clacking of heels on marble filtered through the closed door.

Footsteps.

Every muscle tensed, and she held her breath. Her ears buzzed. Cold swept down her spine. Her mind churned. The taste of blood and bile hit her tongue. Her chest burned. She couldn't breathe. Her hands began to tremble.

"Frankie. Frankie!" Bianca tilted her face up.

Frankie felt trapped. Panicked. She wasn't safe. She had to run. Sweat broke out across her brow.

"Frankie!" Bianca twisted so their eyes connected, "Look at me. Look at me, Franks. Baby, I'm right here. You're ok. You're safe. Look at me."

It hurt. Pain enflamed her chest. Her throat ached.

"Frankie! You're not there. You're not in the arena. You're safe. No one will hurt you. I promise. Baby, I love you." Bianca pressed their faces together, "I love you. You're here with me, and you're safe."

Safe?

"Nothing is going to hurt you. It's me. Bianca. Your lover. You can trust me. I won't let anything happen to you."

Bianca?

"I love you."

Frankie blinked. The pain began to recede. The buzzing died away. She gulped and licked her dry lips. "B...Bianca?"

"Yes, baby." Bianca had tears in her eyes, "I'm right here. Can you feel me? Can you feel this?" She traced the contours of Frankie's face.

Frankie nodded. Her head cleared.

She wasn't in the arena. No one was coming to kill her.

She was in Bianca's bedroom. In the Capitol.

She was with Bianca.

Jerking back, Frankie stumbled away. She tugged at the front of her shirt, the craving for a pill waring with the embarrassment at knowing she revealed her complete weakness to Bianca.

"Frankie," Bianca called after her.

Frankie gulped in air. She needed those pills. Needed the escape.

"Stop. Just stop." Bianca's arms wrapped around her from behind.

Frankie fought against her, but Bianca's grasp tightened. "Bianca..."

"It's ok. Don't go. You're ok." Bianca repeated over and over. She kissed the top of Frankie's head. "I love you."

Frankie sagged into her, the fight leaving her body. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"No, there's nothing to be sorry about." Bianca assured her.

Frankie scrubbed at her eyes, "I...I..."

"You are ok. You," Bianca's voice quivered, "don't need them." Bianca closed her eyes. She knew about the pills. Had seen Frankie take them more than once. It killed her to know the woman she loved needed them. Was addicted to them.

It hurt her more to know the reason why Frankie took the drugs.

Regaining her senses, Frankie took a shuddering breath, "I...I didn't come here for this."

"Why did you come here?"

Frankie unwound the arms around her and coughed to get rid of the lingering wetness in her voice, "My tributes."

Bianca pressed her lips together. She wanted to help Frankie. Force her to talk about the nightmares she knew Frankie had. The sudden panic attacks. The fear and guilt that ate at her heart. How it only intensified during the Games. She also knew Frankie refused to talk about it. "They need support."

"Yes." Frankie frowned, "I hate asking you...

"No one else will help them." Bianca deduced.

Frankie nodded her agreement.

"I'll have food and medicine sent to both." Bianca hated the Hunger Games. Despised them. They were barbaric. Cruel. Evil. The only time she'd ever watched was when, as a younger girl, she'd spotted Frankie Stone during her interview before the Games. Something griped her heart and never let go. It still hadn't.

Love was unrelenting that way.

"Thank you." She never wanted to ask Bianca to help, but she knew Bianca always would. Shuffling her feet, she fingered the collar of her shirt, "I should go."

"Stay. Please." Bianca reached out to her.

"I shouldn't." Not with the nightmares being so bad.

"Please." Bianca hooked her hand in the front of Frankie's shirt and guided her close, "Be with me, tonight." The words ghosted across Frankie's lips. Her hand went to Frankie's hips, "Let me love you tonight."

Frankie felt herself falling into chocolate eyes. Falling with no way of ever getting back up. She pushed into Bianca, mouth touching the patches of skin exposed across Bianca's chest, "What's there to love?"

"Everything." Bianca tangled her hand in Frankie's hair, "You're more than that. You've always been so much more." She gasped as teeth grazed her heady flesh, "Frankie."

Frankie nipped and sucked hungrily. Her hands ran up and down the silk covering Bianca's hips and thighs. Her words trembled with emotion, "I don't deserve you."

"Yes, you do." Bianca coaxed her forward. "Come to bed."

Frankie followed willingly. They tripped along until they hit the side of the bed. The women tumbled onto it, rocking into each other.

It was slow. Exploring. Gentle. They rediscovered every inch of each other's bodies. Hard peaks and swelling mounds. Flat planes and intoxicating folds. Tongues flattened over dips and hollows. Yellow lamplight illuminated pale skin as midnight blue cascaded down slick limbs. Dull brown clothes were tossed carelessly to the floor, piling on top of expensive silk. Husky cries mixed with desire-filled whimpers.

As the moon rose higher in the night sky, Frankie curled sleepily into Bianca's arms. Bianca held her, sloppily kissing her head as her eyes blinked tiredly. When the muted snores signaled Frankie's descent into slumber, her embrace strengthened. She nuzzled Frankie's hair and ear, "I love you." Bianca closed her eyes and inhaled her lover, "I'll protect you tonight. You don't have to be afraid. Not here."

She hoped Frankie did not have a nightmare. The toll the dreams were taking was obvious. If she did, Bianca would take care of her.

When the sun rose, Frankie would leave. Go back to asking wealthy Hunger Games enthusiasts for support and acting like she wasn't slowly succumbing to her mind. Bianca would silently watch her, wishing Frankie would let her help her.

The Hunger Games brought her Frankie, and they were also tearing her away.

The odds had never been in her favor.


End file.
